Fractured Time
by Kaldrake
Summary: A sinister accident forces a blood elf, and her bronze drake, into the past. Alone, and desperate, they must fight to survive the War of the Shifting Sands, to regain their lost timeline. No pairing.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: **Greetings and salutations, friends. This little piece was construed from a group effort to obtain RP gear from Ahn'Qiraj, for the upcoming transmogrification feature. While attempting to keep entertained by the ruthless slaughter of Qiraji forces, an impromptu RP event occurred. Please note while attempts have been made to keep lore as accurate as possible, this story is based wholly upon our plots and interactions.

_Cast_:

Dievas

Balaen

Myself

Maldormu - Also featuring separately as my mate

Rhoana

**Warning**: This story contains mild homosexuality (nothing explicit, not main plot), Violence, and foul language

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><p><em>What hell is this?<em> Mind blazing with agony, the prone figure lay completely still as consciousness beckoned. Every inch of skin seemed to spark with enflamed nerves, straining, as she steadfastly refused to twitch a muscle. The hard packed earth beneath her was bearable, save a rock digging into the base of her spine. The searing rays of the sun playing against her face, stifling in its directness. Still, she refused to move; instincts honed from so many months and years of subterfuge screaming that something had gone horribly wrong with her trip to Stranglethorn Vale.

Scrambling past the migraine, she struggled to recall clues as to her current predicament. The last traces of thought were elusive, however, a quiet groan some feet away finally made her twitch. Sitting up a bit too fast, an arm sprang to hold her midsection. Nausea made her head swim, and sunlight caused renewed pain as she forced her eyes open. Squinting, she stared warily at the mass of fur and leather not far from her.

The gold colored tauren was doing a rather impressive impression of a hangover victim. Hand pressed to his forehead, he let out another miserable moan, squinting up at the sky. After a long moment, some memories sprang to the fore of her thoughts, though muddled with confusion. The being next to her was no tauren at all. He was a bronze drake named Bal, and he was hers. Yet to her knowledge, he had been firmly orcish in guise while in the jungle. With that revelation, and the settling of her stomach, she scowled. None too gently, she kicked out at the lump, prompting a startled bay of pain as her booted foot connected with his side.

"When I tell you to shut the hell up, you listen! Now _when_ are we?"

Ignoring the look of pure hurt directed at her, she teetered to her feet, stumbling as her balance refused the motion. First noticed was the earth. Cracked and dehydrated, it contained an orange hue in the midday sun, which filled her heart with dread. There were only two places in Azeroth that she knew to possess such sand. Slowly glancing up, she winced, taking in their surroundings. Most notable, a tall pillar rose in the distance, a swarm of black obscuring the air around it. Grotesque structures could be likewise glimpsed through the heat haze on the horizon. She knew these landmarks all too well.

Attentions quickly turning, she took stock of her supplies. Her daggers and sword were still in place, but her bags were absent. A canteen of water was secured to her belt, along with her pouch of reagents. The water provided little comfort, as she grimly took stock of Bal's supplies. The oaf carried no bags, and his only visible weapons were a sturdy club and shield. Dredging up water with his faux shaman abilities would be nigh on impossible in the arid landscape. Any water supplied beneath the earth would require too much energy to summon in the heat.

Containing little sympathy at the moment, she turned a fierce glare at him, quietly repeating her question. The seven and a half foot tall bovine cowered before her five foot-six frame as she stalked forward to block the sun from his face. He looked as if he would dearly prefer the sun scorching his fur. Tapping into their bond ruthlessly, she forced calm upon him, imposing her demand for him to focus on the potentially dire situation they now found themselves in. In response, he jammed his eyes shut and fidgeted in place even as he gained a look of intense concentration. Several long moment passed, but she let him be, stalking away to attempt to call her powers to her.

While draining, she was pleased when shadow and flame came to her palms as beckoned. Letting the magic disperse, an ugly frown toiled across her lips as attempts to call her minions fell short. Either she was being blocked from summoning them, or her fears were reality. Reaching to her throat in a near panic, she calmed when fingers ghosted over gold chain and cool stone. Her distress rose anew as attempts to tap into the small gem failed. A deep ache resonated behind her eyes at the attempt, causing her temper to flare. Something, or someone, was blocking her bonds and ties, save to Bal.

As if on cue, the young drake let out a keening cry of anguish, drawing her attention once more. He stared at her with mournful eyes, looking as if he carried a death sentence. At his words, she thought the description apt.

"I... they... I don't know. I can't _find _anything."

No rifts. No dragons. No clue. Finally relenting, she tore the water skein from her belt and offered it to the shaking bronze in silent apology. It was his fault they were where they were, from the snippets slowly returning to her. However abusing him in such a way would help neither of them. Turning a slow circuit once the offer was accepted, she weighed their options. It was difficult to tell where they were in relation to the swarming pillar. After a long moment, she squinted at the rising spires she could make out.

"If that's Hive'Regal... Southwind is to our north. If it's Hive'Zora..." She wisely chose not to finish her thought aloud. If the western most hive was visible, they would die of dehydration long before they reached Cenarion Hold... If it even existed. Well, she mentally amended, _she _would die, and Bal would be killed or tormented for eternity by her mate if he ever found his way back to the 'present'. Rejecting such thoughts as irrelevant, she turned to urge the tauren to his feet. Pleased, and surprised, she took the canteen back from him, noting no great difference in weight. Good. He realized the need for conservation.

"Come on. Keep moving towards the pillar, and keep an eye out."

The long march felt entirely too reminiscent of her very first trip to Hellfire Peninsula, companion aside. The harsh terrain gave even the drake room for complaint. However, to her satisfaction, he maintained his silence unless required otherwise. They walked until fatigue took its toll, and slept in the unnatural quiet of the desert, using their cloaks to shield exposed skin from the sun. At twilight, they would sip from the ever depleted water supply, before continuing on in the equally harsh cold of the night.

A notion had been toying about her head for the past four days, as the pillar taunted them from afar. The only sign of life in the desolate landscape was the cloud surrounding the tall mound. Teaming with life in their own time, this Silithus seemed devoid of it. Watchful as she had been, she had yet to even so much as glimpse an air mote, or scorpid. They had happened upon lotus flowers, and sparse saw grass, which told her it was inhabitable. Everything was simply... gone. Dread coiled with every step they took towards the mound. Lack of wildlife meant big predators were on the move.

The first vestiges of civilization appeared on the horizon on the fifth day, bolstering their spirits as they ignored aching bellies and parched throats. Still, the ill feeling seemed to simply grow with every step they took forward. Even from such a distance the purple roofs of the buildings stood stark against the bleached sand. They were nearing Southwind Village, a settlement of night elves, in their past. She only hoped her strength would hold out long enough to ensure their continued life and freedom should it be inhabited. Night elven slave traders would have a field day with a 'high' elf.

On the sixth day, the village stood clearly on the horizon, yet with such a vision came grim tidings. Scaling a small ridge, they were met with the sight of a dozen corpses, bloated from the sun. A gust of wind brought the ripe scent of slaughter to their noses. Bal gagged, but stared at the bodies with longing. She could not blame him, as even the decomposition would not dampen the loud grumble of her stomach at the knowledge that there was meat laid out below. Clamping a hand on his arm before he could move forward, she shook her head in warning. Even in her weakness she refused to leave their asses exposed to ambush.

Carefully observing the layout of the corpses, she figured they had themselves, been ambushed. She had witnessed such scenes on back trails before. They were sprawled out in a loose formation, but only a couple swords lay bare. They bore savage wounds, as if cut down by animals, but the strikes were precise. Hearts pierced through, or heads split open. Their armor was that of the Sentinels. Only two mounts were apparent, dead with the rest. If there had been more, they had fled once their riders were slain.

Motioning silently for Bal to follow, she slid down the small hill, keeping low to the ground. Stealth was not a tauren's strong suit. She winced and let out a hiss of breath to keep from snapping at her drake, as every hoof step made a tiny avalanche of sand and pebbles. Reaching the bottom, she immediately called fire to incinerate the nearest corpses. As suspected, the action prompted an unearthly series of shrieks to arise. The corpses burst with enough force to send gore across her clothing, but she did not flinch.

The sight was all too familiar, from her wanderings of the area in her real time. Flying silithid were coldly dispatched before they could orient themselves from chest cavities. Ignoring a quiet whimper from behind her, she summoned the last traces of energy to a concentrated inferno covering the area of carnage. More silithid shrieked from beneath the very sand as they were cooked alive by the heat. Sweat beaded between her shoulder blades at the effort of maintaining such a powerful and focused spell, however she kept it up until the last echos were dispersed on the wind.

She would have fallen from pure exhaustion was it not for a strong, furry, arm gripping around her waist. Glancing up, a worried snout nosed her hair as Bal helped her sit, offering her the canteen, as well as forcing energy through their bond. The action from the normally contrary being made her gasp, but tentatively she accepted the offered support. The effort to eradicate the ambush had left her magic depleted, but she knew that Bal held a vast enough store of power to not miss the small amount she required to ensure her strength.

They sat in yet more silence, before the dragon felt safe enough to carefully move to poke at the charred remains. One nightsaber had escaped the purge, only half its body crumbling to ash as Bal nudged it with a hoof. The furry bulk shuddered a bit, but eventually moved to haul the carcass over to her feet. A quiet whimper escaped him as he brushed the ashes and sand off on his leggings. For the first time since they found themselves here, she felt stirrings of sympathy.

Bal was extremely young, by dragon standards. Too young, in her opinion, to have been gifted to her service. The youth betrayed him, normally, in the form of rebellion, and over-excitable manners. From her understanding, he had never experienced the harshest of realities, before. She knew quite well that he had killed, and even cannibalized humanoids. But this was different. Even his form trembled from lack of nutrition, and overexertion. They were not eating the half-rotten corpse of a nightsaber because they wished to, but because it was required for their survival.

The one small blessing, was the fact that the fire had burnt away the fur, and the rot was covered by the taste of ash. She dug into the 'meal' without hesitation, only pausing between bites to ensure it _stayed_ down. The tauren took a bit of convincing from his stomach, before he so much as touched the flank she had carved for him. Chomping down on the bile-inducing meal, she thought he would simply be sick-up from it. To her ever increasing pride, he set his jaw in a grim line and mimicked her methods, pausing after every bite for a moment to let it settle.

Once she stomached all she could, restless paranoia set in. Climbing to her feet, she ignored Bal's concerned looks as she scavenged for anything useful that may have escaped the inferno. Most of the steel was melted into useless scrap, however a fallen shield had escaped intact. Along with such, she found a saddle half buried in the sand. The exposed leather was useless, however quick work with a dagger salvaged the concealed cloth and harness buckles.

Offering the faux shaman the shield, she set to work on the cloth, thankful that she kept her needles and thread in with her reagents. A crude sack provided a means of taking some of the left over meat with them. While she hoped that Southwind would provide fresh food and water, she dared not rely on the notion. If they were not hostile, then they were dead, if the patrol's fate was an indication. Urging Bal to his feet, they shared the last traces of water from the canteen, before setting off once again.

They arrived at the village well after nightfall. The darkness provided little hindrance to her sight, however Bal struggled to maintain footing on uncertain ground. The fact that the buildings lay in complete darkness told her all she needed to know about what awaited them inside. Night elves were nocturnal, drawing energy and power from the moon. That not a soul seemed to stir assured her that the denizens were dead, or had fled. She kept a firm hand on Bal's arm, guiding him while darting wary glances around, as they cleared the first structure.

Lips curling into an ugly scowl, she caught sight of the central square. A mix of night elf sentries, and Qiraji battle-tanks cluttered the ground. Without a doubt, she knew that there would be stragglers from the silithid, however she would need to take more care in dispatching them. The village would hold fresh stores of water and food, unless the qiraji forces had befouled it. Nostrils flaring, Bal scented the air and let out a quiet snort, the sharp scent of death easily detectible even without full sight.

Eyes darting to take in the shadowed buildings, she spied the largest. It would either be the inn, or the communal hall. In either case it would be most logical to check first. Wound tight from nerves, she guided them as silently as possible towards the entrance. Peering inside provided a grizzly scene. No one in the village had been spared. Civilian corpses littered the space, intermittent with smaller silithid drones. The sentries had urged the infirm to seek shelter in this building, but had only served to trap them like cattle.

Nothing stirred within, and the bodies did not appear bloated. But she knew quite well that looks were deceiving. Not moving from the doorway, she darted her gaze around, searching for any visible sign of what she sought. A long counter separated the main room from a cooking area. There. Stacked neatly against the back wall were kegs. Some had been toppled during the invasion, but others looked untouched. She murmured quietly for Bal to stay as he was near door, before creeping across the room on silent treads.

Craning to glimpse the other side of the counter, she let out a quiet breath as not even bodies were present. Beneath the counter itself were kegs already tapped. Not pausing to figure out what they contained, she made quick work of filling the canteen, wincing as every trickle sounded deafening in the unnatural stillness. Glancing around, she snagged a woven sack from a grain crate near the stove, sweat rolling over her skin as she became hyper aware of every second of leaving Bal sightless. A darted look over the counter assured her that he was well, looking alert and impatient where she had left him.

Shoving the canteen into the sack, she ran a finger over the nozzle of the tap, bringing the liquid to her nose for a sniff. A quick taste provided the information that it was morning glory dew. While she failed to complain, her nose crinkled as she considered it a perfectly good waste for the keg. Scavenging for empty bottles, she found two for wine. Wincing as she slowly eased the corks free, she filled each bottle. A nagging of thought prompted her to crawl over to the food supplies, biting her lip to bleeding as she took pains to shift through the contents without a sound.

Stale bread, apples, and dried meat were added to the sack, before she carefully padded the glass bottles with her own cloak. Feeling well past exposed, she hurried as much as she dared, back to the doorway. Through out the process, the only sounds had been caused by herself, or the drake's nervous shifting. As they exited the building, a sudden surge of urgency overtook her, as she surveyed the night. Handing the sack over to Bal, she readied for attack as she caught glimpses of movement from the corner of her eye.

Tapping Bal's arm she tugged sharply at his hand, as a hulking figure lumbered from between two buildings across the square. Fear jolted through her belly as she immediately recognized the form. Insectoid legs carried a towering abdomen and thorax; flaring dramatically with skeletal ridges which protected powerful wings. Beady black eyes pierced through the darkness to spear them with intelligent malice, mandibles flexing and clattering the grating language of the Qiraji Prophets.

Getting her message loud and clear, as well as hearing the terror inspiring speech; they turned as one to flee, only to fall short as the darkness itself seemed to writhe with sudden, terrible, life. Buzzing filled the air, as the chattering mantra of the Swarmguard set their heads aching. The thrum of dozens of wings surrounded them, setting her heart racing and fire sparking in her hands unbidden. They were completely surrounded. The Qiraji forces had obviously been laying in wait on the other side of the village.

Even despite dire circumstances, she could not help but laugh -bordering on hysterical- as sudden realization hit. The war of the shifting sands. They had stumbled into Southwind Village either just after, or just before, Staghelm's forces had been ambushed and decimated. Her noise of mirth seemed to shock the insect-like beings, as for a pause, the buzzing and chittering ceased. She felt Bal tremble beside her, but forced her focus away from the crushing fear radiating from her link with him.

The noise began anew, sharp, angry notes apparent even without knowing the language. The towering prophet stopped just shy the square, regarding them with obvious anger. "Yyyou daare tryyy to trick ussss? Yyyou will die!"

Even reflexes honed from years of experience could barely compete with the speed at which the first swarm attacked. Somewhere above and behind her Bal bayed with rage and agony as he moved too slow. She winced, but spared no thought for him, as she drew deep from her stores of power to ignite the area with fel flame. The swarmguard screamed in agony as entire groups fell, not expecting such powerful and swift retaliation. For the victory, there was a score more who dodged high into the air, merely singed.

The prophet roared, spearing a leg towards her. Agony exploded in her left shoulder as a spell hit, disrupting her concentration. At once the flying insects dove in for the kill, she scrambled to grasp the flow of magic once more, but failed as another spell forced her to roll out of the way. Growling savagely as razor sharp pincers raked her back, she spared little thought as she exploded in waves of hellfire, gritting her teeth at the self inflicted pain. The swarmguard scattered at seeing their fellows go down attempting to spear her. Past the agony she noted separate flashes of light from across the square. Molten magma spattered through the air as her furred drake recovered from his own wounds, fighting back with a fierceness which dimly startled her.

Shuddering with the effort, she gathered power into her hands swiftly before cutting off the channel of hellfire. Eyes narrowing with dangerous intent, she hurled the magic at the obvious leader, grinning as she manipulated the shadows, directing a wicked lance at the prophet's eyes. A sudden silence speared through the attackers, as all watched in disbelief as the mighty being wavered, mandibles scrabbling weakly at the embodied shadow of the spike. Curling her fingers with grim satisfaction, she sent another spell, causing green flame to erupt from the wound. At last, the beast toppled as the fire quickly consumed the soft tissue beneath the exoskeleton.

Climbing painfully to her feet, she watched carefully as the swarmguard wavered. The lull in battle allowed Bal to scramble to her side, heavily favoring his left arm even while still gripping his shield. He looked exhausted and worn as he stared down the lingering insects. A sudden noise from behind startled them. Whipping around, she felt faint with horror as a smaller, but no less sizable figure detached from the swarm gathering on the road. Utter silence followed in his wake, and the qiraji soldiers parted from his path respectfully. Pincered hands snapped in a mimicry of applause.

"Imagine my surprise, when the scouts informed me that a battle had broken out after the pitiful rats of this place had been extinguished."

General Rajaxx paused a dozen meters from them, just shy the flickering light afforded by lingering flames. She felt weak with fear, but stood all the straighter for it, focusing a waspish glare on him. While she was aware of what he was capable of, she refused to succumb to such frivolity. The Qiraji battlemaster had nothing compared to Lord Illidan. The silent thought gave her pause, but after a long moment, she began to smirk. Her mate was inspiring in his own loyalty to their former leader.

"You will not feel so smug, once I am through with you, mortal scum. You will not die peacefully, for the disruption of my plans."

With a gesture, the swarm moved forward as one, the numbers far too vast for her wavering strength to push back. They were nearly upon the two companions when a horn blast sounded over the clamor. Eyes widening, she hurled herself at Bal, toppling them both and startling the charging insects. Hissing as the hard landing pulled her wounds, she growled out an order that sent the tauren scrambling towards the nearest building. The attack halted as a great force disrupted the rear guard, sending battle-tanks and warriors into the swarmguard ranks as pure chaos erupted with the arrival of Valstann's contingent of soldiers.

Attentions divided, the General shouted a command which caused their pursuers to break away, focusing on the greater threat. Taking the chance, she rose to her feet once inside, pulling Bal with her as much as physically possible. Comprehending the urgency, he followed swiftly as she ran to the secondary exit opposite them. Night elf architecture was unsecured, and not for the first time, she praised their foolishness. With the battle raging in the square, and spanning the road, the northern wastes just outside the village were devoid of Qiraji as they sprinted over uneven terrain.

They did not pause until the village was well beyond sight, and the landscape too perilous for Bal's hooves in the darkness. Collapsing behind a ridge, they panted from exertion, leaning against each other for support. Head swimming, she nearly hyperventilated, until a familiar canteen was shoved into her hand. Sparing an unseen grin at the drake, she gulped the sweet liquid, cracked lips burning at the sudden moisture. A second, calmer, sip helped set her breathing to rights, as an apple was offered to her. Passing the flask to Bal, she accepted the morsel, shivering almost too much to hold it as adrenalin trickled away to weak muscle and searing flesh.

Voice wavering, she looked him over, "Are you hurt?" A shake of the head was his only response, as he finally lowered his shield to the ground. No blood was obvious, save that of the Qiraji. It was his arm which troubled him, however he could still move it. It was inevitably bruised from the forceful deflections. His side of the bond was disconcertingly 'silent', causing worry. But there was little for it at the moment.

Wincing as her shoulder twinged, she finally spared a thought to her own injuries. Bruised and bloody, she could feel every pull over her back, sparking with pain to indicate the swarmguard's accuracy. The heat of her flames had provided a crude cauterization, however her acrobatics had worsened the wounds. A glance at her shoulder made her grimace and look away. The flesh at the joint had been ripped open by the prophet's spell. Already the wound festered with infection. Her outlook was grim, but knowing exactly where and when they were provided some comfort.

Staghelm's army would be barricaded two days north, at Valor's Rest. If they could reach the encampment without being picked off by silithid, she would gladly face imprisonment for healing and real sleep. Considering the time line, she felt safe in quietly murmuring her plan to Bal.

"We need to move soon. The night elf army is at Un'goro Pass. If we stay on the move, we'll get there before the Qiraji catch up."

Again, the tauren simply nodded. Frowning, she finally forced the issue. "You've killed before. This is no different, save setting."

He cringed a bit, a quiet whimper escaping as he finally looked at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and obviously fighting to hold back tears. She shifted uncomfortably at the sight, but forced calm down the bond.

"I... No... I defended myself... N-never... I've never seen so many innocent..." He cut off with a shaky breath, obviously feeling the effects of her calm aura. At his words, she let out a quiet sigh, finally reaching out to grip his good shoulder. She gave it a light squeeze, unsure of whether it would actually provide comfort or not.

"The best thing you can do, is not think about it. There were no people in that village. There were only rocks, and rubble, and Qiraji."

Her strong words took a moment to digest. With another shudder, he nodded slowly. A pause, and he voiced quiet agreement. For now, she knew that he would be alright, as she finally sensed more traces of emotion from him. There would be time to deal with post traumatic stress when they were not on the run for their lives. Taking a moment to calculate, she figured that a couple hours sleep could be had come dawn, but not much more, without risking being overtaken by the insect army.

From the time line she could recall from history books, it took the Qiraji three days after the capture of Valstann to reach the main host of night elves. Unsympathetic, she saw the Staghelm's misfortune as a blessing, as it ensured General Rajaxx would not move his troops until the next day. Spurred by the thought, she stood and urged Bal to his feet. Her body protested the movements, but she forced past the bursts of discomfort. Ruefully, she was used to the near constant ache of post-battle wounds. Less so, in recent years, but the familiarity sparked old instincts to distance herself.

They made good time in their urgency, stumbling across the first signs of all out war before the sun even broke the horizon. The sand was trampled and packed with blood, bodies and debris littering the field. Thankful for Bal's hindered sight in the darkness, she steered him carefully through the carnage. He could no doubt scent the rot, but he remained quiet, and upon looking at him, she realized that he had closed his eyes against any glimpse. The behavior was acceptable to her, if it ensured he keep a level head.

The field of bodies persisted throughout the rest of their journey. The crater wall was a welcome sight to them both, the next day. Pressing on, she noted signs of more recent movement in the area. Freshly disturbed silithid burrows housed insect corpses, and later in the day, they discovered the site of a camp. The more unwelcome side-effect of drawing nearer their destination was the risk of being picked off by jumpy sentries or straggling Qiraji. Thankfully, it was the former that found them.

Nearing dusk the day after, a patrol spotted them from an outcropping. The grim-faced soldiers were a welcome sight, despite their obvious hostility. Riding up on nightsabers, they blocked their path with drawn weapons. She fought every fiber of her being that wished to simply incinerate them and steal their mounts. Loath though she was, dropping to her knees in genuine surrender seemed to ease their intent, as they took in her array of colorful bruises, and oozing wounds. A disturbance beside her assured that Bal was following her example.

As the night elves argued with each other in rapid Darnassian, a slanted glance at her furry companion prompted both worry, and a plan.

"What are you doing out here, Quel'dorei scum? And with a filthy tauren, no less!"

The leader of the patrol finally stepped forward, in all his self-righteous glory. The tone made her grit her teeth with anger. Not bothering to disguise her feelings, she finally glanced up to spear him with a fierce glare. The reaction seemed to shock them, and put them on edge. Fighting to keep the weariness from her voice, she allowed a weeks worth of pent up emotion loose with but a few words.

"Mind your tone, whelp! You dare speak to a servant of Nozdormu in such a manner? Help us at once!" The biting tone of command caused the night elves to bristle indignantly, until the full scope of implication was realized. The leader froze for a moment, before looking her over more carefully. She recognized the second he noticed her physical difference from the 'modern' Quel'dorei, as his eyes grew wide, and he looked as a scolded child.

He actually bowed, gesturing for his follows to help them to their feet. "I apologize for the hostility, my lady. But as you can see, we're currently fighting a war. We can't be too careful of strangers."

Raising a delicate eyebrow at him, she turned down the offered help, and rose to her feet. Despite the agony, she refused to show more weakness before such a pompous ass. "Because being_ 'careful of strangers'_ equates to insulting potential offered aid, based on the appearance of race."

The cold assessment made him frown darkly, but rather than argue, he invited them to share the saddles of the nightsabers. After a moment of awkward staring between the seven soldiers, one reluctantly gave up his saddle for Bal. She looked displeased, but impatient, as the leader mentioned taking them directly to Staghelm. The notion of meeting Fandral was less than pleasing, but a look at her own shoulder while mounting up quelled any protest. She was only thankful that she had in fact read the history books. If he required a demonstration of her dragon status, she could just as easily tell him outright. The bronzeflight could mop up their own mess if her interference caused a paradox.

The trip to the main encampment went by swiftly, as both of them dozed in the saddle. Bal nearly unseated himself a time or two from such a thing, but she found that keeping a stranglehold around a night elf waist kept her from the same fate. To the opposite, as Bal got true sleep in short intervals, she found it impossible. Her time was spent in a half-daze of jarring pain, as every movement of the big cat, or the soldier in front of her, jarred her shoulder. Fever was setting in already. Her skin crawled and she felt alternately icy and overly warm. Her shivering did not go unnoticed, and the one sharing the mount with her went so far as to suggest crafting a gurney. A suggestion which she promptly shut down based on their time constraints.

The camp was a sea of small tents, and supply wagons, making her feel claustrophobic as they made their way through towards the center. Battle worn soldiers stared as they passed, expressing disdain, surprise, or confusion as they recognized [or did not], their race. She drew the brunt of angry glares, many assuming, as the leader had, that she was Highborne. The center of camp housed the command tent, and what she recognized as a healer station. The open-air tent was buzzing with activity, as several Sisters of Elune prepared salves, potions, and boiled bandages for the wounded.

The most noticeable commonality of the night elves she saw, was that they all looked just as tired as she felt. It lent credence to the assumption that the priestesses were conserving energy by doing things the 'old fashioned' way. One particularly haggard looking healer rushed over almost before her feet could touch the ground. The priestess turned a disdainful nose up at her, causing irritation to surge. Before she could berate the woman, the leader cut in, wisely.

"Sister, please. You stand in the presence of Nozdormu's servants. They are in need of attention."

At once, the sister's demeanor changed. Turning concerned eyes on them, she merely sniffed at Bal, before her gaze focused solely on the festered wound. Barb on the tip of her tongue, should the sister comment on their race, she was pleasantly surprised at finding herself ushered to a cot beside one of the small campfires. The rough linen aggravated her back, but she could find no complaint, as she was offered warm tea. The sweetly scented liquid was familiar to her as a tranquilizer. Offering Bal a comforting nudge through the bond, she drank deep. There was no force on Azeroth that would keep her awake for the lancing and cleansing of her wounds.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up to the considerable bulk of scowling night elven arrogance standing over her would have normally warranted a ball of flames, was it not for Bal's presence at her side. Fandral Staghelm was intimidating in stature, and less than pleasant in personality, but especially in her sleepy haze, she failed to be impressed. Ignoring him completely for a moment, she tested her shoulder, noting the bandage now wrapping it. A twinge of pain was the only reminder that it was wounded to begin with. Shifting her weight also supplied notice that her back was no longer in ribbons. The relief was staggering.

"Marrik stated that you claim to be dragons. Yet your..." His lips curled into a slight snarl, "Servant... refuses to speak."

Taking her sweet time, she neglected response until the tension in his frame was palpable. Finally, she glanced up, eyebrow raised. "He _is _my servant, and _is _under orders not to speak." Her tone was berating, and seemed to inspire a wish from him to slap her, by the twitch and curl of his hands at his sides.

"What proof do you offer, girl?"

The lack of respect grated on her nerves, but she supposed she could forgive him in light of the fact that she was lying through her teeth. Rolling her shoulders in a shrug, she adopted an expression of disinterest.

"I've no proof." An outraged snarl left him, but before he could make more than a vague motion to a nearby sentinel, she cut him off. "I have been unable to change my form since I was wounded. We were ambushed by a Qiraji magi just outside of Southwind Village."

Mentions of Southwind made him pause, as she hoped it would. The indecision was clear on his face, before he made an impatient gesture.

"What news of Southwind?"

Choosing her words carefully, her features remained neutral. "We witnessed a battle taking place within the walls, but weren't able to get close enough to see its status before we were attacked."

A scowl touched his lips, gaze snapping to her with heated interest. "You claim to be bronze. Tell me what will become of our efforts." A raised eyebrow was his answer. Once again, she interrupted him, as his face flushed with anger.

"You act as if I'm under your command. While you have our gratitude for patching us up, we owe you only the same in turn."

He reared back, as if to strike her; in a flash, Bal blocked him, snorting out a warning. The night elf sputtered in disgust and took a step back, gesturing to the sentinel. "Kill them. They're obviously lying to save their skins."

Gently tugging Bal's tail to get him to move aside, she sneered at Fandral. "Kill us, and you incur the wrath of an entire dragonflight. Treat us as real guests, and you will discover the truth from the son of Nozdormu himself."

The inflection behind her words, more than anything, made him pause. In a way, she was not lying about the second part. In honest, she was not certain that even Bal was worth enough to the aloof dragonflight to start a war. That did not stop her from sounding as if she were completely certain and knowledgeable. Looking utterly disgusted with the situation, he glared at her.

"You will work, while you're here. If you step a single toe out of line again, I'll risk the gamble."

With that, he turned to stalk off. Bal returned to his seat, staring at her with a disapproving frown. She grimaced at him, laying back down and letting out a sigh. Murmuring quietly, to discourage eavesdroppers, "Let's hope Anachronos's feeling generous in this era." It prompted a snort from him.

As anticipated, the next day was greeted with the arrival of Rajaxx and his army. She and Bal were among the soldiers who gathered to face the might of Ahn'Qiraj. They stood in the back ranks, a pilfered cowl covering her pale skin, though nothing could conceal the drake's bulk and hooves. News of their arrival had spread rapidly throughout the camp, and she disliked the attention. It was with mixed feelings that she now found herself ignored in light of the oncoming fight.

Having chose their location strategically, they were well away from Staghelm. Such did not keep them from hearing his anguished cries, as his son was executed before his eyes. Not even she could repress a wince of conscience. Bal outwardly looked unmoved, but she could feel his turmoil through the bond. There was no time for comfort, however, as they were swept up in the charge to battle. She only hoped that the following months would pass quickly.

Soon, she regretted her wish. While the days and weeks passed in a blur, it was by no means peaceful. They fought daily against the onslaught of seemingly innumerable Qiraji and silithid, fighting tooth and nail to keep their hold at the pass. But as foretold by her history, they were pressed back steadily, until the lush green of Un'goro Crater presented the backdrop. Somehow, she and Bal escaped dire injury, aided in part by her foreknowledge of how best to dispatch the masses. Her fast temper and swift retaliation was a cause for fear and respect for those who found themselves swept up in a raging inferno of green flame on the battlefield.

To her credit, she only once harmed a night elf, early on in the battle. After the initial first wave of fighting, a soldier had gotten in the way of her purging of the battlefield. If any of the older elves recognized her demonic tactics, they had yet to call her on it, as her methods ensured no burrowers attempted to infiltrate behind their lines. One blessing to the melee was the easier avoidance of Staghelm. She had little doubt that he would blame her for his son's death, for lack of a better target. She would prefer not to be killed by a grieving father who thought her a bronze dragon.

The heady weight of exhaustion encompassed their forces, many becoming demoralized with the realization that no matter how many they killed, the Qiraji numbers never dented. The two waited with baited breath, daily, for the call to retreat. The only place left to go was Tanaris, and from there, they would return home. The waiting was more agonizing than the near constant struggle. More than once, she considered abandoning the elves to their fate, but the opportunity never presented itself.

The long awaited order reached them from Fandral himself. Catching up to them during a lull in battle, he looked as death warmed over. Contrary to expectation, he simply glanced at her listlessly. "We test your theory, girl. It is your supposed flight's aid we now seek."

With that, he had ridden off, shoulders slumped in defeat. Finding themselves once again marching across a desert was less disheartening, with the knowledge of their destination. The hills housing the entrance to the Caverns of Time came into view after four days of constant travel. They refused to pause the march for knowledge that they were pursued, and despite their already downtrodden spirits, none complained. During the day, the night elves slept in the saddle, and at night, they walked the large cats. Those who could not keep the harsh pace fell behind, to be consumed by the offensive.

It was not until they approached the disconcerting path leading into the caverns, that the army paused. The broken husks of various racial structures buried in the sand was a very welcome sight to them, as a sentry herded them to the front of the unit. In the distance, they could already glimpse Anachronos' large form, waiting patiently for them to draw near. The overgrown lizard nearly made her wish to cry- Bal whimpered from beside her, fidgeting as if to restrain himself from pouncing Nozdormu's heir. Fandral's lips pulled into a sneer at the distressed noise, but was barred from comment, as the great dragon looked them over with a knowing air.

"Fandral Staghelm, I know why you are here..." He paused, gaze once again drifting over the displaced travelers. "Balaen, Dievas, it is good to finally see you again. Andormu wishes to speak with you inside. I believe you already know the way."

Quite happy to ignore the night elf, with such blatant invitation, they neglected the glare directed at their backs as they jogged into the mouth of the cavern. The steward was absent, but shortly down the winding, dizzying, path they encountered the wardens. They were ignored, for the most part, but a couple paused to watch them pass. The winding network of tunnels and caves seemed just the same as in their own time, save the absence of the temporally displaced orcs, and dwarf, vendors. While the walk seemed unaccountably long, the dais came into view just as she began to feel irritation surge.

Zaladormu rested as he had always, near Nozdormu's hourglass, his form shadowed and insubstantial. Skirting his platform, they made a beeline for Andormu and Nozari's older forms. The younger displacements had always creeped her out, during the services she had provided the Bronzeflight in her own time. Safely out of sight from elves and dragon heirs alike, Bal at last gave into the urge, sweeping a bemused Nozari into a bone crushing hug. She patted his back comfortingly, raising an eyebrow at her brother. He shrugged sympathetically, but made no move to aid in prying the young drake from her side. Instead, he nodded to the bone weary warlock in silent greeting.

"I would say it's a pleasure to see you for the first time, again, but I doubt you'd appreciate the gesture, given current circumstances. If it lends comfort, I will punish Madormu in a few thousand years."

Her fierce glare prompted a small frown, and the dragon raised his hands to placate, before she could respond. "We have yet to know you as you are, however we felt the rift, and one of our Time Keepers supplied the rest. I regret his harsh actions, and the resulting, and unnecessary hardship he forced upon a mortal, and his own kin... The punishment will be suitable to what you've gone through, seven fold, as without your presence, Balaen would have perished under the might of the Qiraji."

The very notion confirmed as she had suspected. The dragon whom Balaen had insulted, had not known, or cared, that he was so tied to a mortal when he ripped open a time way. They would have sent him to death for a simple argument of words. The dragons had better prey that she did not sink her claws into Madormu before his own punishments were in place. As if sensing her thought, Nozari spoke up, having finally extricated Bal from her person.

"We understand the personal nature of the slight. But we must ask that you not seek retribution. You are more than capable of subduing one of us, this we know. However your power would be challenged by the ebb and flow of time itself."

The lack of satisfaction made her bristle, shooting the ever silent Bal a look. The drake was hers, and such toying triggered every instinct she possessed, to obliterate the source of his current apathy. The twin dragons before her looked grim, but firm, in their insistence. At last, she scowled, shaking her head.

"Send us back, so that we might begin recovering." Looks of regret sent a sensation like ice water down her spine. A grip of outright terror threatened to break her stoic features. A furry body pressing into her side was the only anchor which kept her calm. She needed to remain strong, for Bal's sake. She could be accused of being many things, but when it came to those that were firmly _hers _she refused to let such a simple thing as fear get in her way.

"Events are already in motion. To send you back before completion would risk ripples with unforeseen consequence."

Sparks of felfire encompassed her hands unbidden, giving away her opinion far clearer than any words. Andormu looked genuinely sympathetic, but firm. "If you no longer wish to participate, we offer you our hospitality, until such a time as we might return you safely."

The offer lent no comfort, as she well knew that not even the Caverns would be safe from the swarm. A nauseating weight settled over her at the knowledge. "Send Bal to the Shrine, then, until it's time."

It was surprisingly the drake in question who raised protest, shaking his head vehemently and spearing her with a suffocating array of emotion through the bond. "No, master." His voice was firm, and uncompromising. He would stay with her until hell froze over and the world perished under the Qiraji army. Bitterly, she knew that not even fear of punishment from her would negate his decision. If she sent him away, he would find his way back even at the expense of his own life, should she reinforce an order with Will.

Witnessing the slump of defeat to her shoulders, the tauren whined quietly. He regretted her obvious distress, but refused to apologize. He would be punished for his impudence once they were safely back within her mate's camp. Sensing the tension between them, Nozari spoke up.

"At least stay with us until the night elves march again. We are aware that your current forms cause discord among them."

The fight had left her with Bal's rejection of her orders. Spitefully she wondered when she had become worthy of sacrificing lives over. Of her two drakes, the bronze had been most unwilling to conform to her strict standards. Now he acted as if he held the right to decide his own fate. He shuffled uncomfortably, edging away, as if sensing her wrathful thoughts. Heaving a sigh, she finally relented, "Fine. We'll stay in the tavern if it exists, and leave with Staghelm. The faster we get this over with, the faster we can leave."

Andormu nodded, recomposing himself. "The tavern is as it's always been. I trust you know where it is." He wavered a moment, as if debating with himself. "... There is another... guest, staying there... Do not allow his eccentricities to upset your rest."

The words were ominous, but far tamer than the previous topic. Curiosity slowly replaced the harsh feelings, as she pondered who could prompt stoic Andormu to warn them of another traveler. Too worn down to do much more than nod, she turned to lead the way. The notion of strong alcohol, fresh food, and comfortable bedding eased some of her ill will at the dragons. It was obvious to her that the drake who caused the disruption had been acting independent of the time keepers.

Slumping into the decrepit building wedged _into _a wall of the cavern, the innkeeper greeted them silently with a mug of ale and warm stew. The meal stole attentions, and they dug in with little regard for manners or surroundings. Marching on starvation rations of stale bread and moldy cheese was not conducive to healthy diets. The succulent clam meat and hearty vegetables made her wish to melt in pleasure. Her drake shared the opinion, letting out inelegant noises as he abandoned utensils altogether.

It was only after his bowl lay empty, that Bal thought to glance around curiously. A strange noise prompted her to glance up, startling a bit with flame sparking to her palm, before the object of Bal's attention registered. A gasp escaped as she froze in utter shock. A familiar cheshire grin of bemusement was being directed at them from a shaded corner of the small building.

Deep red hair framed molten eyes, which crinkled at the corners as he watched them scarf down the food. Feathers absent, and robes that of the Keepers of Time, Kal looked much the same as she recalled, save the unsettling coloration of his irises. Even the loathed chain still rested around his throat. Despite his gaze, not a shard of recognition passed over his features as he regarded them. Never the less, he nodded his head, impishly reaching up to feel his face.

"Do I have dirt?"

The infuriating tone of innocence sparked a wave of homesickness even as it evoked a wish to slap him silly. She held herself back, however. Simply observing him carefully, while calming Bal's excitement through the bond. This Kal, was not the one she knew. His features held none of the tension of fake cheer, and the shadows weighing his demeanor were almost non-existent. The comfortable justification for her instinctive ire was the fact that his smirk was just as infuriating, as he leaned forward to smile charmingly.

"Don't be frightened of my eyes, pet. They burn for you." The crooned attempt at flirting made her scowl.

"Save it for someone who cares, pretty-boy." He recoiled as if struck, hands springing to clench his heart in mock agony.

"Oh! Doth the stars weep and spurn the advances of the sun!" His dramatics were comforting, in that they sparked a familiar fire somewhere near her sternum. It was the burning desire to roast him alive while gagging him with his own shorts. Thankfully for the young future priest, they were interrupted by the arrival of another drake.

This one donned the guise of a more traditional night elf, eyes of molten bronze raking over and taking stock of the situation. First his gaze landed on her, and Bal, taking in her pursed lips and tense features, as well as their ragged and stained appearance. Finally, they came to rest on the the source of her annoyance. His lips quirked into a slight smile, even as he strode over to smack the back of the calico's head, prompting an outraged yelp and pout.

"Stop harassing Andormu's guests, love, or they'll ship you back to the Gurubashi."

She watched with morbid fascination as the normally unflappable chromatic blushed a deep shade, peering up at the night elven bronze contritely. He spared her a glance of apology. "Sorry, I was just making my own fun until you got back from the new timeway."

The two exchanged a look so sweet, that it made her physically ill to watch, yet could not bring herself to look away. Observing them carefully, she noted the bands around Kal's upper arms were matched on the night elf. None of the other keepers held such decoration. The implication made her shift uneasily. In her own time, she knew Kal held a dislike for the purple-skinned race that rivaled her own. Granted, she did not police his habits, but she had never seen him in the friendly company of one (the Illidari did not count). Or any other dragon, for that matter.

Unmindful of their company, Kal stood to draw the taller male into a tight embrace, standing on tip-toes to press a heated kiss to his lips. An eyebrow inched up slowly, as they maintained the kiss for several long moments. She was not bothered by the public display, but rather, entirely bemused at the thought of the calico, and his attraction to her mate suddenly making sense. Beside her, Bal flushed a bright shade beneath his fur, and glanced away, embarrassed.

It was inevitable that their repose be disturbed a few short hours later. Having anticipated it, she was not startled in the least when the wardens began roaring the alarm, the sound of battle trickling in from outside. The three drakes in her company jumped to their feet, while she stood slowly, stretching to work kinks from her spine. Kal and his lover rushed from the inn without hesitation, hurrying to aid the defenders against the Qiraji invasion. Before her drake could move to follow, she barred his way with an arm.

"This is not our fight. You know just as well that the Caverns won't fall."

Wavering a moment, he spoke up quietly, "If this were the Temple, and you could prevent the massacre of Illidari... would you be able to stand aside?"

The sting of such a question made her wince. Staring at him for a long moment, she moved slowly out of his way. With a quiet nod, her bronze rushed out to join the fray. Sorting out her own thoughts on the matter, she was both gratified and saddened to realize that Bal had indeed grown from the experience. She simply was uncertain if it was a change for the better. He could attempt to save his kin during this battle, but the crushing weight of failure would be unavoidable. Taking a moment to compose herself, she followed at an almost sedate pace, absently blasting a flying silithid with felfire as it broke free of the dragons barricade.

Anachronos soon realized the futility of ignoring the Qiraji threat, with such bold actions against the Caverns. Every dragon and night elf fought tooth and nail to push the massive army back, but for every one killed, ten would take their place. They made slow headway only by the might of the dragons crushing the insects in great numbers. Though she never got a chance to speak with him again, she saw the bursts of molten lava, and ever changing breaths of Kal's chromatic heritage in the melee. Occasionally his scales would catch her eye as he passed overhead, but there was little room for distraction at seeing his true form for the first time.

The near constant press of battle was relieved with the arrival of night elven reinforcements from Feralas, and the other dragonflights. The added numbers bolstered moral, and with a mighty burst of strength, they drove the Qiraj on the defensive. Each passing day saw the insectoids driven further back, until they once more found themselves within the lush jungle of the Crater. With such a victory, they witnessed the enemy retreat beyond the pass, to Valor's Rest.

They took a day of rest, while the dragons scouted Silithus from the air. She took the opportunity to find her drake. The constant fighting and movement had ensured they were kept apart since they had left the Caverns. The bulk of fur that was his current guise was easily spotted, as she wove her way between masses of exhausted soldiers. Finding him had been rather easy, as she asked down the line for news of a tauren. Now, she did not even garner a second look from the night elves. News of her invitation to rest with the dragons had spread, and she was often taken at face value as a magically constrained drake.

The true drake of the pair appeared downtrodden, as she expected from the bond. He stood in silence, beneath one of the smaller trees, gazing blankly at Fireplume Ridge. At her approach, he let out a quiet, distressed whimper. "Does it ever get easy?"

Pressing close to his side in an uncharacteristic display of comfort, she caressed a hand down his back. "No." Her ear twitched as she considered her words carefully. "The only thing you can do, is continue with the understanding that the dead wouldn't begrudge the survivors."

In honest, she felt nothing, when watching night elves or, the very rare, dragon succumb to the slaughter. There was a detachment whenever the fighting began, which ensured her indifference, beyond caring after her own fate. The dividing factor of the situation was that Bal's race was now involved in the struggle. That he knew them by blood, if not name, ensured his sensitivity whenever one fell. If telling him what he wanted to hear helped him survive, she would lie to him through her teeth until the day she died.

The next day saw them through the pass. Lines and rows marched in tandem, as dragons of bronze, red, green, and blue (Only one black spec stood out among them) soared overhead. They met resistance almost immediately, but the droves of silithid and Qiraji were easily pushed back by the united front they now presented. Grim determination drove them onward, fighting and herding the opposing army back across the desert from which they came. Each passing day saw victory, but it was bitter in their minds. The enemy was to be contained, rather than defeated. Yet, they pressed on.

Encroaching on the temple city of Ahn'Qiraj met the fiercest resistance yet, as silithid and Qiraji gathered in force to repel them. Here the insects had no fear of defeat, as soldiers poured out like a rushing tide to meet them head on. In her haze of battle lust she fought as one possessed, leaving no energy reserve untapped as she culled the first wave with a well placed inferno. Dragons breathed down upon the rushing mass, however were soon locked in their own struggle for survival, as swarmguard and flying silithid joined the attack.

Everywhere she looked was chaos, and she relished the adrenalin as it added to her power. Fire rained from the sky, catching enemies alight as the fel missiles pelted ground and fliers alike. Those foolish enough to attempt melee combat with her received similar treatment, as the area around her exploded in hellfire. When her head swam and attentions wavered from depleted magical stores, she ruthlessly sliced into her own arms with a dagger, sacrificing her life for energy. The Qiraji prophets soon began targeting her, but the press of the druids and priests kept their attentions divided. Any opportunity presented saw shadow lances spearing into their eyes. The elves soon caught on, directing archers to dispatch the spellweavers.

Despite the small victories, for each insect killed, twenty replaced them. It seemed the forces of Ahn'Qiraj were innumerable, and they soon had all they could simply to maintain rank. The dragons were lagging as well, and soon the defenders were forced to break formation as one of the great beings fell. In a rush of bronze, the mighty drake crashed into the ground with deadly force, sending a shockwave of sand and debris onto allies.

Momentarily blind, she stumbled as a deafening roar of agony sounded. Swiping sand from her eyes, she glanced up in time to witness a mass of black, gold, and red scales rush overhead in a blur. Another, louder, cry of sorrow arose from the majestic calico, filling her with dread, and causing even the surrounding Qiraji to pause. As Kal hunched over the larger form of his slain mate, she saw his frame shudder, before all at once he leaped into the air, loosing a bellowing howl of rage that caused her heart to flutter in terror.

He barreled headfirst into a group of constructs, showing a viciousness the likes of which she had never witnessed before, as he decimated the Qiraji with abandon, blind in his gut-wrenching grief. Showing the truth of his heritage, he seemed to go mad in his fury, unflinching as some spells pierced his hide. He slaughtered anyone who entered his path, be they night elf or silithid.

A searing pain across her arm knocked her from her stupor, causing her to loose her own roar of anger as she dispatched the offending battle-tank. Her heart ached oddly for Kal's loss, lending more fuel to her spells, and allowing her to ignore the discomfort of her wounds. The fight seemed to drag on for hours in a blur of violence and bloodshed. The never ending stream of Qiraji reinforcements would soon cripple their efforts if the plan was not put into motion. As if in response to the thought, Anachronos landed behind the line. Not daring to hope, she spared a glance up and witnessed three drakes detach, flying unflinchingly into the city.

The sudden move caused a halt in the flow of soldiers, as they were overtaken within their own stronghold. The opportunity afforded, they tightened rank around the entourage of druids and priestesses, grim in their purpose as the Qiraji were swiftly slaughtered between Kal's frenzied massacre and the renewed efforts of the elves. Almost at once the effects were apparent, as the earth itself revolted against the unnatural insects. A wall of stone and vine rose around the perimeter of the city, and even the winged silithid found it impossible to fly beyond.

The change of tides bolstered moral, and they made quick work of dispatching the remaining enemies. Several drakes immediately converged on the rampaging chromatic, attempting to subdue him for the safety of them all. Collapsing in a trembling heap as adrenalin leeched away, she watched from a great distance as they were forced to fight him to the ground. Six in all were required to pin and magically bind his claws. Pressure built behind her eyes, but ruthlessly she shoved the emotion away, wrapping herself in a numb cocoon of indifference. A quick check of her bond provided the relief that Bal was well, if in severe distress, as he no doubt witnessed the same.

Standing was impossible, once her instincts calmed, and her muscles turned to jelly. A quick check yielded the understanding that she was experiencing complete magic exhaustion, in addition to her physical wounds. Several gashes bled out sluggishly along her arms, and nearly every inch of skin was littered with bruises. While she had ceased cutting herself after the Qiraji did the honors, she had cut deep enough in her battle haze to keep the self-inflicted wounds open. She was frankly shocked that she had not bled out.

Frame shivering uncontrollably in the aftermath, she stayed as she was, using scraps of her shirt to keep pressure on the worst of the bleeding wounds. Disbelieving night elves wandered the field, dealing killing blows to crippled Qiraji, and gathering their own wounded, none quite believing that the battle was over at last. Several passed her by with looks of concern, but she waved them off. Her gaze was focused solely on Kal, hawkish in her careful calm, to ensure he was not harmed for his actions. Though fighting tooth and nail against the bindings, he seemed to give up as more drakes landed nearby.

Unsure if he was knocked unconscious, or merely lost to despair, some coiled tension in her belly eased as the gathered dragons seemed to hold council, before two bronze broke away. They gently arranged him to his side, before gripping his bound limbs in powerful talons. They took flight with him carefully suspended between them, winging swiftly over the sands towards Un'goro and Tanaris. They would not treat him so, if they intended him harm. Letting out a shuddered breath, she rested her forehead against a knee briefly, before approaching footsteps startled her.

Bal trotted forward hesitantly, before picking up pace at glimpsing her bloodstained appearance. He turned to bellow for a healer, before turning to embrace her carefully. Though wounded himself, he had escaped in far better condition, preferring to fight from a distance with his faux shamanism. Ensconced in his furry arms, she allowed herself to relax that much more, as the full weight of realization settled in. The battle was over. They could go home, as soon as Anachronos or one of the drakes was available. Tears were forcefully crushed down at thoughts of seeing her lover again, after so many months. The void in her soul, where a second drake bond should be, also ached.

Bal refused to move, until a priestess approached. Listening in a stupor of bone-deep weariness, she could not prevent a nose crinkle as the sister invoked Elune to heal her wounds. Very much doubting that their goddess would want anything to do with healing a reviled blood elf, she was therefor shocked when the pain slowly began to melt away. Glancing to her arms, she watched with detached fascination as the wounds appeared to shrink slowly, before disappearing altogether. Only faint trace-works of scarring remained, and she knew from experience that those would fade with time.

The priestess rushed away after uttering a couple more words of blessing, seeking the next among those requiring healing. Weaving in an out of consciousness, she registered being picked up by strong arms. Tensing, a brush of golden fur against her cheek calmed her, and the gentle sway of his movement lulled her into darkness.

Her first instinct was to tense sharply at the unfamiliar feel of her location, as sleep hazed thoughts scrambled. The movement prompted a muffled curse as her overtaxed muscles screamed at the rude awakening. Wrenching her eyes open, she squinted up at the high-curved ceiling overhead, befuddled, as her last memories were of Silithus. Finding the will to turn her head, she blinked at the night elven architecture of the room. Had they taken shelter in the ruins of Southwind? The notion made her frown, but there was no scent of decay to support the assumption.

A quiet snore from the floor made her blink. Loath to move, she never the less forced her arms to work, propping herself up to peer over the edge. Bal slept peacefully in a large nest of blankets to match his bulk. A mangled pillow gave testament to his sound slumber, where it rested neatly gored on one of his horns. The sight prompted a faint smile from her normally pursed or smirking lips.

As if summoned by her movement, a quiet knock sounded from the door. The sudden noise made her jump, smile slipping away to a suspicious frown. After a second, logic caught up to her, and she quietly called for them to enter. The noise made the drake startle slightly, half sitting up before his mind seemed to register her presence, and their location. Before any words could be exchanged, the door opened to admit the innkeeper of the Tavern of Time. He spared them a slight smile, before stepping aside to allow someone entrance.

Andormu greeted them, looking distinctly exhausted in his own right, despite not having participated in the battle. Ignoring their curious stares, he cut directly to the chase.

"I'm here to send you back to your time. You're sufficiently rested for the travel, and the timeway is now stable. I must caution: Months have passed, by your reckoning. However you will be sent back to the same day of your departure... I would normally offer to strike this excursion from your minds, but we have too small a window of opportunity before the way is lost."

Before either could respond, they felt a great pressure sweep through their bodies, drawing silent cries of shock. A kaleidoscope of color and sensation burned through their very beings, before abruptly, everything stilled. Reeling, muscles gave out and landed her firmly on her back, quiet noise of pained joy forcing its way past tightly clenched teeth, as various bonds suddenly flooded her senses, reopening after months of inactivity. Almost before she could recover, a loud cry of shock reached her ears, before she was swept up in a bone crushing hug.

Squirming against the embrace, she finally relented, returning the red drake's hug with equal ferocity. Almost unable to believe it, the crushing weight of finally being home ate away at her shields, allowing a couple tears of pure relief to escape as the now (rightfully) orcish Bal joined them.


End file.
